


Walking Forward in a Circle

by fabulousanima



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabulousanima/pseuds/fabulousanima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were each other's fifth time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Forward in a Circle

They were each other’s fifth time.

 

* * *

 

 Cassie’s first time was her college boyfriend, Brandon.  He was lanky and lean, a thick mop of hair framing a pale face.  He read a lot of books and pushed his glasses up his face by grabbing the frames with his forefinger and thumb.  He dropped the names Nietzsche and Descartes in regular conversations.

They met in one of their early morning classes, Intro to Bio.  She was taking it as part of her premed requirements; he was taking it to fulfill a gen ed core class.

His room always smelled strongly of aftershave, and his skin tasted like it.  They struggled to find room to maneuver on the thin twin beds.  He liked her on top, and she supposed she liked it as well; she had no frame of reference for it.  She did enjoy the look of her hands on his bare chest, but he never seemed to want to try anything else.

She orgasmed most of the time.  Brandon often bragged, loudly and openly, that he knew exactly where the clit was, and Cassie couldn’t argue with that; whether he knew what to do with it was another story.  But at least she could set the pace when she rode him, so she couldn’t complain too much.

He liked to lick her collar bone.  She liked when he licked her collar bone.  Sometimes he slapped her ass, but it felt oddly perfunctory, as if he were only acting out the porno he had watched the night before.

Cassie didn’t like the way he talked about the other girls in his English Lit class.  She didn’t like the way he lost badly at board games with their friends.  She also realized, and in some ways it was liberating and in some ways it was terrifying, that she was far smarter than him.  She broke up with him in their junior year, and while he was angry, he left her life much the way he entered: with a pretentious Yeats quote.

 

* * *

 

Cole’s first time did not last long.

He was 17, living with a group of survivors he had been with for years.  The group expanded and shrunk all the time as people joined and were killed, fled in terror or begged for salvation.  Maria was older, almost 26, and despite her sunken eyes and haunted look, Cole thought she was beautiful.  She and her cousin had joined the group, blood splattered across their shirts and stomachs rumbling with hunger.  According the two women, they had been with their family.  They were all that was left.

He followed her around like a faithful hound, the only one unaware of his obvious affections.  She smiled wanly at him as he stumbled through his flirtations.  They ate old cans of beans next to each other by the fire.  He shot a man before the man could shoot her.

There was no rhythm to their bodies, just feral grasping and clutching and twisting.  He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he left them pressed against the ground, giving him more leverage.  He tried to kiss her, but she turned away, so he tucked his head into the crook of her neck.

He finished embarrassingly fast; surely he was supposed to last longer than that?  He whispered ‘I love you’ into her skin, but she rolled over without replying.

They met again in the middle of the night a few more times after that, the sounds of their bare skin slapping together sounding vulgar and animalistic in the tiny tent.  One night she smoothed his hair away from his face, looking more contemplative than he’d ever seen her.  “You’re just a child,” she said softly, mournfully.  They never fucked again.

A few weeks later, their camp was raided, and Cole was separated from the group.  He caught a glimpse of her long brown hair as they both bolted in opposite directions; he never saw her again.

 

* * *

 

Cassie’s second time did not happen for a long time.

She spent most of her time studying, in part because medical school was difficult and in part because she found the subject matter fascinating; she finally felt stimulated, like she was learning what she was meant to learn.  But it was draining, and she touched herself in the shower only rarely.

She did go out with friends sometimes, still socializing when she could.  Idly, she would consider going home with someone for a one night stand, but always found herself deciding against it by the end of the night.  She wondered if she should just go for it.  She wondered if she should try phone sex.  She wondered if she should try girls.

Finally, she was at a bar with some fellow students when a young man in her pediatrics rotation sat down a few tables away from them.  Cassie was pretty sure his name was John (Jonathan?), and she had been impressed by how well he had worked with the children.  Her eyes now roved appreciatively over his body.

She consulted with her friends.  She had had a few drinks.  They told her to go for it.

She went for it.

They went back to his apartment because his roommate was out of town.  His hands were large and warm, and they felt amazing up and down her sides.  His capable fingers made quick work of her school-related stress, and she came hard before they were fully undressed.  It was the first time she ever orgasmed more than once in a single night.

The next morning, Cassie woke up warm and satisfied and a little sticky.  She lay in the early morning sunshine, waiting for John to wake up too.  Should she sneak out before that?  Or should she stay?  After a while, he began to stir, and she shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

They made breakfast together; Cassie borrowed his sweatshirt and a pair of clean boxers.  It was pleasant but awkward.  As she was leaving, he asked, “Can I call you?”

With a small smile, she nodded and wrote her number down on a scrap of paper.

It became clear what he meant by that pretty quickly: he never called before nine.  They were near strangers who fucked regularly, and the situation worked surprisingly well.  They were perfectly cordial as they screwed in the shower, her face pressed against the wet tiles.  They were very polite when her legs were hooked over his shoulders and he was ramming into her.  They were on their best behavior while they did their worst.

After a few months, John tapped his spoon against his cereal bowl thoughtfully.  “There’s a fourth year student I’ve been spending some time with lately,” he said, looking across the table at her.  “Sujata Vaswani.  I like her a lot, but I feel uncomfortable asking her out while we’re doing what we’re doing.  So I won’t be calling you again.  No hard feelings?”

Smiling, she shook her head.  “No hard feelings!” she said cheerfully.

That night, she bought a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a bottle of merlot.  She finished both while crying over a marathon of romcoms on TV.  The next morning, she woke up on her couch, hungover but cured.

 

* * *

 

Her real name was Karen, but everyone called her Schmidty.

She was part of a large settlement outside of what used to be New Brunswick.  They had walls, they had doctors, they had generators.  Their camp was actually a few old dorms from a college that lay in ruins just beyond their walls, fortified by a ring of dead cars and traffic road blocks.

Cole had been alone for a long time, and it was hard to get used to people again.  Their noises, their smells: everything was overwhelming.  He took to hiding in the basement, once a rec room.  Schmidty found him on top of a pool table, eating his sandwich in solitude.  She barked at him to get off, he’d scratch the felt.

In an attempt to help domesticate him again, she introduced him to her friends at the camp.  Smith.  Brownstein.  Carrington.  Ramse.

She also decided to teach him a thing or two when they were alone.  “You need to learn to please a woman,” she said with a smile, and pushed his head downwards.

Tall and lanky, she had a good three inches on him.  She kept her hair cropped short so it wouldn’t get in her way.  Her skin was tanned except for the pale scars that littered her body.  But despite it all, despite everything, she always seemed to be smiling.

“Let’s enjoy each other,” she would say, and she would slow him down, make him take his time.  She taught him how to use his fingers, his tongue, and she taught him what it meant to wait.  They had sex in a number of different places in the buildings, and every time Schmidty wondered aloud if the college students from before the virus had ever thought to have sex there too.  Cole would lick a trail between her breasts and tell her to shut up and kiss him.

Like all good things in the barren wasteland that was their world, the camp went up in flames.

Cole got out, barely, and only because he ran into Ramse carrying extra weapons.  They had each other’s backs as they made their way through the wreckage, firing wildly, smoke in their eyes.  Cole tripped just as they were about to clear the walls, and retched: Schmidty lay on the ground, a gaping hole in her temple.  Ramse grabbed the back of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet, screaming for him to move.

 

* * *

 

Aaron was charming; there was no other word for it.  Cassie had met him through a friend of a friend at a dinner party, and the only thing she could think after it ended was ‘charming.’  After their first date, she was able to add more adjectives to the list -- smart, suave, smooth (he was a politician after all) -- but charming always topped it.

They were both professionals, hard-working driven people, and they made love like it too.  They were a little rough, a little hurried, a lot passionate.  But Aaron also liked to take the time to charm her.  He would send flowers to her office and to the hospital where she worked.  He would cook her dinner and serve red wine.  He would take her out to the opera or a swanky party.

He liked to pull her hair, ravage her neck -- then whisper adorations in her ear.  Cassie knew she was in love, knew this was it.

And then--

And then her world turned upside down, and Aaron wasn’t there to catch her.

 

* * *

 

She told him her name was Amelia, but that was probably a lie.

He and Ramse had been on their own for a long time.  They scrounged for food when they could: hunted small animals, raided ancient, dusty pantries for food other people might have overlooked.  Cole couldn’t remember the last time he had been properly clean.

A cracking twig in the woods alerted them, and the two were on their feet in an instant, guns at the ready.  Two emaciated figures emerged from the woods, eyes hollow and bloodshot.

The taller of the two talked more, claiming to be Shelley.  She eyed Ramse like a fresh piece of meat while sharpening her knife with a whetstone by the firelight.  Amelia sat with her hands clasped around her knees, staring into the flames.

Shelley produced a bottle of whiskey from her coat, and passed it around.  It felt harsh on Cole’s tongue, searing his throat.  Ramse was slurring his words.

At some point he couldn’t remember, Cole and Amelia were at his sleeping bag.  She turned so that he could only take her from behind, and he pressed himself against her.  He reached between her legs and slid inside, using his other hand for leverage.  The only sounds he could hear were his own grunts, the sliding of the sleeping bag against the leaves, the groans from the other tent; Amelia was silent.  As he came, he laced his fingers between hers, and she gave a slight squeeze.

The next morning she was gone, along with almost all of their supplies.

 

* * *

 

Cassie hadn’t planned on sleeping with Dr. Touissant when she first met him in Haiti, but she did not regret it.

He was intelligent and strong, dedicated and passionate.  She respected him as a colleague and enjoyed him as a friend.  She also discovered what it was like to have her ankles above his head.

The thing she would remember most was his arms.  He wrapped them around her torso, strong and thick.  He grasped her around the shoulders to hold her in place.  The palms of his hands were calloused yet gentle, precise yet tender.  His tongue tasted like wine.

Cassie loved how he set the pace: slow at first, then quicker, then slow again, taking the time to explore every inch of her.  He held her hips around his waist as he thrust into her, their gazes meeting as she supported herself with the pillow.  The low light of the room made everything look almost ethereal.

It felt amazing to let go, and she orgasmed twice that night.  Her life had been a blur of paranoia and a subtle sense of unease every since the night she had been kidnapped.  Everything felt untethered, slipping out of her grasp, but for one night, she allowed herself to forget her worries, her unspoken fears.  She fell asleep for the first time in months without trouble.

A gentle breeze played across her bare body, like a lover’s caress.

 

* * *

 

Max made love like she did battle: rough and enthusiastically, a feral smile on her lips.

She liked to suddenly grab at his crotch while they were out on runs and smirk, using her eyebrows to indicate a tree she thought would be good for copulating.  She would bite his lip and give a gentle tug just to make him laugh.

There were times when they were both starving, not having eaten for days, and would crawl into a sleeping bag together to put their hands all over each other’s bodies.  There were times when they had just been in the crossfire of a storm of bullets, and they would attack each other as soon as they were able.

Max was a good fighter, a strong-willed companion, and loyal friend.  Cole enjoyed spending time with her.  But he never felt the odd flutter in his chest that Maria inspired, never felt the warm feeling spread through his gut that Schmidty instigated.  He wondered sometimes, staring up at the ceiling of his tent, if he would ever be capable of those feelings again.  But as he turned over and breathed in the scent of Max’s hair, he wondered if it even mattered anyway.

 

* * *

 

But those feelings resurfaced like a hurricane blowing in to shore as he pulled Cassie’s shirt to the side to press his lips against her shoulder.  He could taste her skin, feel the heat coming off of it.  It was smoother than any skin he’d ever seen, completely unmarred by any scars or injuries.  It seemed almost too pure, too impossibly clean.

The thought that he shouldn’t taint it, shouldn’t touch her unblemished skin with his rough, calloused hands, crossed his mind, but the sound of her breath escaping between her lips, the light moan caught in her throat, spurred him on.  He trailed his fingers across her shoulder blades, around her hip bones, and she moved into his touch.

Cole was slow, methodical, attentive.  He paid attention to every detail of her body, and Cassie found it just as erotic to watch him watch her as it was to actually feel his touch.  His eyes were riveted on her form; he seemed almost mesmerized.  Cassie felt sexy without the weird cliche feelings of the word: she felt desired, she felt needed.  It was more intimate than lacy lingerie or naughty words.

The goosebumps that broke out across her skin made something stir near the region of his heart, thumping wildly in his chest.  Her light, breathy moans were enough to make his pants feel especially tight.  Everything about her captivated him, and he could not look away.  He wanted to remember every detail, every moment.

When he entered her, Cassie watched his face.  Cole was looking at where they were joined with an aura of reverence.  He moved slowly still, but moved his gaze to her face.  The intensity of his stare almost made her look away, but there was a magnetism that held her there.  Their kisses were languid, unhurried, even as his pace began to pick up and her pleasure began to mount.  She could feel the muscles in her body tense with pleasure, but her eyes never left his, their lips still lingering.

Her orgasm led to his, and they lay in a sweaty heap, their breathing evening out as they curled into one another.  It was a moment that seemed to last forever, and Cassie had never felt more at peace; it was a moment, one of the only moments since they had met, since they had felt the ticking of the clock and the press of time more than ever, one of the only moments that seemed to linger, that existed only for them, right then, right now.


End file.
